What Ethereal Dances
by belongtoyourselfagain
Summary: Following his death, Ori haunts Moria as a ghost. "It's incredible how easily you get over little things, like seeing your own corpse, when you're dead with too many decades on hand."


It's incredible how easily you get over little things, like seeing your own corpse, when you're dead with too many decades on hand.

Ori doesn't know when exactly he came to terms with this fact, barely raising an eyebrow at the disintegration of flesh and cloth- he hadn't had the ability to do much in the first ten years, other than spooking the occasional passing orc using a skittering rock, sparking rumors of a crazy dwarf ghost (and rightfully so). So for quite a while he was left staring at his unfinished journal, losing track of time and his thoughts.

In fact, he hadn't been aware that anything within him had accumulated until the orcs got over their superstitious fears and gathered to raid the remaining dwarven tomb. Ori had watched them smash their hammers down over and over and over again on Balin's coffin. It did not matter that nothing but Balin's body was laid inside- rage and sorrow like nothing he had ever experienced before coursed through Ori. Why couldn't they leave him alone? They had taken everything from him- friends, hope for a bright future, his life, and now the peace of the dead?! Suddenly skeletons were shuddering, axes were rising into the air. He didn't notice the screech of orcs' screaming and the clamor of their fleeing, so caught up was Ori in his despair. After hours passed and he was able to calm down, he found himself utterly alone. As it turned out, from then on the little incident effectively restricted the hall to his use only.

The following years were long, though productive as they could be for a ghost, and terribly lonely. Certainly none of his fellow dwarves are still alive, and none have remained with him on this side of death either. Not even rats scurried by, neither starved and creeping like those of the Blue Mountain's ilk nor brave and friendly like Beorn's mice, though Ori reflects longingly on both. Insanity is screaming just for the sake of hearing the echo of your own voice, only for no sound to emerge from your ghostly throat. Silence is his only companion.

If that is the case, then what is that unusual noise rapidly approaching the tomb?

* * *

Never in his entire afterlife has Ori expected to see another dwarf, let alone one of his own kin. Before he can take action, more curious than cautious (what can the living do to him anyway?- oh the many morbid jokes Ori has devised), Gimli comes barreling in at the sight of the moon-illuminated burial grounds. To even greater wonder, he is not alone. A mess of people all shapes and sizes follow, including dear old Gandalf with his crooked hat and staff. However, Ori barely gets a glimpse at all of them before his cousin crumples at the side of the tomb.

Gimli's wails of grief are devastating. So accustomed to seeing his fallen comrades on an everyday basis, the sensation of mourning, the messy tears and the agony lodged in your throat, has been lost to Ori, and he can only watch as Gimli struggles to come to terms with Balin's death. He tries to reach out, but his hand only passes through Gimli's shoulder unnoticed, unhelpful.

Even more devastating is the noise they are making. As much as he hates to admit it, the elf is right. They can't stay long. He regularly made a bit of a din to scare the orcs off, but this was practically an invitation for conflict. Ori plugs his ears when Gandalf begins to read his recordings- he's never liked the sound of his own writing, let alone writing that is thirty-some years old- yet that is not enough to block out the racket when the hobbit holding Gandalf's hat knocks Náli's skeleton down into the well.

Immediately, orcs come crawling out of the cracks. They slither from hidden holes and race down the halls. They come with crudely forged weapons and frail scraps of armor, but worse than that, with the most malice intent. The backlash is almost instantaneous.

Luckily, Gimli's band seems quick on their feet as well. One of the men dodges the first attempts at a casualty when he closes the door, and the elf archer, who is beginning to look more and more familiar, retaliates with a couple well-placed arrows. Ori almost cheers. Gimli takes his position on top of the coffin, ready to fight, and this time Ori does cheer.

He too prepares himself in a back corner where he can't be readily seen, axe in hand. Maybe Ori couldn't protect Balin, but he'd be damned to stay in this tomb for eternity before he lets anything happen to Gimli.

"There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!" Gimli says, and wasn't that oddly accurate.

Of course, there also seems to be a cave troll drawing breath, as if the swarms of orcs aren't enough. Ori jabs here and there at the troll's feet, but it has little effect. He pulls up one of the hobbits that dives between the troll's legs and regroups around Gimli. Gloin would be proud at the courage his son demonstrates, as Gimli hurls one of his axes at the troll's shoulder before leaping aside at the last moment. The force of the troll's hammer is enough to do what the orcs' couldn't, and Balin's tomb smashes into pieces. Ori yells, and hurls himself into the frenzy. He doesn't know how long he slashes at the orcs that accumulate around Gimli, and for the first time he no longer yearns for the well-executed group attacks of his former party, so caught up is he in the battle.

The hordes around them are dying down when high-pitched screams suddenly split the air. Ori whips around, but from his angle can't identify what took place. All he sees are bodies of men collapsed on the ground and two smaller figures holding on for dear life on top of the troll. This is getting out of hand. Ori climbs up to the upper level of the room and summons all of his strength and valor to jump and join the hobbits on the troll's back. His hands barely manage to grab hold of the chained collar before he is thrashed around on a sickening ride. It's a couple seconds of nauseating movement before the troll's hand reaches over, through him, and snatches the neighboring hobbit off. The remaining one goes deathly pale.

At least all of this commotion has tired the troll out, as it lurches around the tomb. Finally it stops in front of the elf, and Ori sees him raise his bow in anticipation.

"Now," Ori whispers, not caring if he can't be heard, though the hobbit seems to have the same idea. He forces his blade down, and Ori contributes with his dwarven strength to drive it deep into the back of the troll's neck. The troll roars, and the elf uses the opening to lodge an arrow into its flesh. It sways, staggers, and at last collapses onto the ground, sending its riders flying across the room.

Ori recovers quickly, not capable of taking any wounds or having any breath knocked out of him. He scurries to the door and checks for further enemies, which to his relief there are none. Yet. He doesn't have to force Gimli's company along, as once they are on their feet they are off again. Ori follows them into Dwarrowdelf. He's prepared to fight again when they are surrounded by a new wave of orcs, but even more treacherous forces send them running.

As they draw farther and farther away from Balin's tomb, the paths become less familiar. Ori makes his way to the front of the group to get a better sense of their location, having been this way only once or twice in the past. He's right behind the elf when they descend the stairs and are forced to stop short by the gap in between. Ori makes the jump easily, though his heart nearly metaphorically stops when Gimli is saved only by the elf and the length of his beard.

In his many years of silence in the tombs, Ori's ears have been trained to hear even a chain swing from the depths of the mines. So when the first arrow from the orc archers comes whistling at them, he nudges one of the men just out of the way and draws his slingshot. Arrow after arrow he intercepts with spare rocks, until all of the party is across and they can hurry onto the Bridge of Khazad-dûm.

Ori thinks they're going to make it- he can see the exit in sight, it's so, so close- when the balrog rears its ugly head again. All shadow and flame it is, with wings that seem to take up the entire length of the chasm. Ori trembles, fearing that its heat could disintegrate even him, but Gandalf stands his ground.

Gandalf's barrier of light lasts only one of the balrog's fiery clashes, and Ori fears for the worst until Gandalf's voice grows louder. With a tremendous command, Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. The overpass shudders, but does not actually break until the balrog takes a deadly step forward. The shattered half of the bridge cascades downward like a waterfall and the balrog goes with it, wings flailing to no avail. Once the flaming whip has almost passed out of sight, Gandalf exhales and turns to join the rest of them.

Suddenly, there is a flash of red and Gandalf is falling toward the abyss. He barely manages to cling to the rock, and his eyes are so wide Ori wonders if in that moment, Gandalf is able to see him. That is the only excuse for such terror, for such weakness that has never been exhibited before.

"Fly, you fools."

And then Gandalf slips over the edge with barely a sound. Ori can only stare while behind him, the remaining hobbit is dragged out. Arrows rain upon them, courtesy of the orcs with their newfound cowardice, but Ori pays them no mind.

He's been this way before. He has walked across this bridge and attempted to escape into the sunlight, only to be stopped by something even more invisible than him. He's watched as birds hop around without a care in the world just beyond his reach, ignorant of his desperate tears and longing to take only one step more. He cannot get out.

But really, there's nothing for him out there. And there is someone he can help in here.

Ori straightens up, takes a deep breath, and then follows Gandalf down.

* * *

Ori thought he had known darkness, but if anything the dimness of Dwarrowdelf is a mere shadow to the roots of the mountain. Down and down they descend into its depths, swallowed by the never-ending chasm, Ori mere meters away from Gandalf. Swiftly they approach the balrog, Gandalf with Glamdring in hand and Ori with his axe.

Ori gets the first blow, lodging the axe into the balrog's tail and dragging it down its length. The balrog writhes in agony, allowing Gandalf to land and make successive strikes to its chest. But too quickly he is knocked off and into the grip of the balrog.

As Gandalf yells from the pain, Ori realizes something. The balrog's flames have no effect on him. He can feel nothing. For the first time in his life, he is the strongest being present, and now he is going to take advantage of it.

Calmly, Ori scales down the balrog's body, adjusting to the twists and the turns of the fall. He has more than enough time. Even as the fissure opens up into a larger chamber, Ori casually embeds his axe into the balrog's wings, tearing a rift into them so that it can no longer fly.

He has eight seconds before they hit the water below. More than enough time. Ori lifts his axe and drives it into the Balrog's neck, cutting off any screeching. He pushes it in further, twisting it until the entire weapon is inside. Ori admires his work before he steps back and casts one last look up. _Farewell_, he thinks to his former comrades, to the tomb he has protected all this time. There is nothing more he can do for them.

Then they collide with the water and Ori sees no more.

* * *

_Well, it's about time!_

_Balin, how long have you been lying to us? Clearly some of the dwarves survived Moria!_

_You can't expect an old dwarf to know everything. Come, get to your feet lad, we have so much to show you._

-end

Sequel: Ori meets up with the Army of the Dead from Dunharrow and they cause havoc! (jk no sequel)


End file.
